


The Amazing Arachnimorph

by oddshine



Category: Sam & Max (Comics), Sam & Max (Video Games), The Adventures of Sam & Max: Freelance Police (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - SpiderMan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddshine/pseuds/oddshine
Summary: Follow the adventures of you're not-so-friendly neighborhood hero as he takes on the toy mafia, gets friendly with his work partner, and makes a foe for life!
Relationships: Max/Sam (Sam & Max)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	1. Another Day in New York

Here was just your typical, semi-friendly, hyperkinetic, neighborhood spider-powered lagomorph hero. What? That's not typical? Well, probably not to you. But in New York, anything could happen, and often than not did. In such an interesting city, you needed an interesting person to look after it. Fortunately, Max happened to be that kind of guy... or rabbit to be more accurate.

Taking the name Arachnimorph, Max kept the mundane and not-so-mundane citizens of New York safe from those who sought to harm them. You might be wondering, "How in the world did a 3-foot anthropomorphic rabbit get spider-like abilities?" Well, that's a topic for another multichapter fic that will probably never be written. For now, let's focus on the present.

Max shot strings of web from his wrists, swinging from building to building, in hot pursuit of a black DeSoto speeding down madison street. As the car sped down the road, a man poked out the passenger side window with a gun in his hand. The man pointed the gun at him and started shooting. Max twisted and turned in the air to dodge them, hearing bullets whizz by his head as he did. He landed on top of the car with a thud.

The driver must have heard him because the vehicle made a squealing turn around a corner, causing Max to almost fall off the top of the car. The man on the passenger side pointed his gun at Max, but before the man could get a shot out, Max shot a web at the man's hands, sticking them to the car's top. 

"Listen, buddy, I'm runnin' on a tight schedule. I'd love to play but I've got places t' be this mornin'." Max stated. 

The man struggled in the webbed restraints, but the webs didn't budge. Max then turned around and poked his head down to the driver's side window to see the culprit behind the steering wheel. Once the driver caught a glimpse of Max, he looked absolutely mortified. The driver tried to reach for a gun with one hand, but Max shot a web at his hand, sticking it to the car's control console. 

"And it looks like you've got someplace t' be too! May I?" Max insisted, Shooting a string of web at the steering wheel. 

Max tugged the web that was connected to him and the wheel, causing the car to careen into an ally. Max unattached the string from his hand, then shot another string at the driver's foot that was on the gas pedal and pulled it up to the dashboard. After he stuck the driver's foot to the dash, he shot a web at the breaks, stopping the car to a screechinghalt. Once the vehicle stopped, he shot some more webs at the thieves to make sure they'd stay seated till the police assisted them.

Max opened his mouth to make a witty remark but was interrupted by the sound of sirens growing louder in the distance. He hopped from the car's top and started to scale the building beside them before the authorities could arrive. Once he reached the top, he took a moment to take a breath. Once he caught his bearings, he straightened up and looked up at the sky to see the sun peeking over the New York City skyscrapers. He wondered what time it was? it's not like he had a watch on him, nor would he be able to read it if he had one-

"THAT WAS AMAZING ARACHNIMORPH!!!"

Max jumped at the loud and sudden voice. He turned his head to see the source of the exclamation to find- 

...Lorne... 

Lorne was your basic looking guy, short black hair gelled back, pale ivory skin, a bit on the heavy side. He wore khakis, black Chuck Taylor sneakers, and a yellow, short-sleeve plaid button-up with a blue bowtie around his neck. When Max had first bumped into Lorne, he had claimed to be Max's "fan for life.". It was flattering at first; however, as time progressed and the more often he seemed to bump onto the guy, it grew to become borderline creepy. Everywhere he turned as Arachnimorph, Lorne always seemed to be around the next corner. 

It wasn't unusual to run into him after dealing with criminals, but that didn't make it any less irritating.

"Shhh!" Max hushed Lorne, "you're gonna get me caught by the tirebiters down in the ally."

"oh right! sorry." Lorne half-whispered with a bashful smile. Max rolled his eyes in response. 

"Listen, I don't really have time t' talk, I've got someplace to be." Max started, "You've got the time on ya?" 

Lorne brought his left arm up to check his wristwatch, scratching his head with his other hand. "hmmm, 'round quarter-till-ten." he responded.

"Lorne, please speak a language I can understand."

"It's about 9:45."

Max cursed under his breath. He was extremely late for work. Not that it was not an unusual occurrence, but it was something he tried his best not to do... with little success. It wasn't like he could help it. Pumblings worked on no schedule, and neither did he.

Before Max could say anything more, he heard footsteps making their way up the stairs to the rooftop. No doubt the police that had been busy cleaning up after him from his tussle with those thieves. He took it as his cue to make haste and make himself scarce. He turned and shot a web out onto the nearest building and slingshot himself forward into the air without a word. 

"oh- BYE ARACHNIMORPH, TILL WE MEET AGAIN!!'" Max heard Lorne yell to him in the distance as he made his way to work.


	2. to the Office

Max stood in an ally near his work building, making sure to take his costume off where no one could see him. He stuck his Arachnimorph suit onto the backside of a dumpster, so he could quickly find it again. "Maybe I'll remember to come back and pick it up." Max said to himself. Not that he ever did remember. He had plenty of suits hidden throughout New York, so much so that he could easily find one in a flash when needed. 

Max scurried across the street to his workplace, a tall building on 39th Street and Second Avenue called The Little Arctic Paper. When Max wasn't off beating up crooks, he worked as a freelance photographer. Well, freelance was a loose term he used, considering he only ever takes photos for his friend, Sam. 

As he made his way into the building, he could see one of his favorite reporters, Flint Paper, making his way into the elevator. "Hold the elevator!" Max called out. Catching his attention, Flint held the door elevator open for max to hop in. 

Flint was a hard-bitten man. He had sand white skin and black, tousled hair that greyed at the sides. He wore a wrinkled, light blue button-up shirt with a press badge poking out of the shirt pocket. His shirt was tucked into his tan slacks, which were held up by a dark leather belt. As dressed as he was, he somehow always seemed disheveled with his five' o clock shadow and loose black tie. Not in the unwashed kind of way, but more in the "I don't care what you think about me, I'm just here to get things done. Also, I'm doin' your wife" sort of way.

Max panted, turning to face the elevator doors as they closed. Flint gave a raspy chuckle. "jeez max; ya always seem like you schlep t' work. haven't ya ever heard of a cab?"

"Psh, ya don't get a bod like this takin' the boro, ya know." Max quipped, gesturing to himself.

"Hmm, guess not." 

Unlike Sam, who worked as a full-time journalist for Little Arctic, Flint did freelance just like Max. That meant Flint got to write about whatever he wanted and submit his articles to whoever would pay for them. Sam admired Flint for this and also wanted to go freelance. However, Sam had to provide for his adopted daughter, and freelancing wasn't a very stable business. So he had to stick to full-time, writing whatever the editor-in-chief requested.

"what have ya been up to?" Max asked.

Flint lifted a vanilla folder in his hand and tapped it into the palm of his free hand before he spoke. "Just got off an interview with a hitman who's bein' sent t' Sing Sing. He was alleged to have connections with the Toy Mafia."

"Really??" Max exclaimed, "what'd he say?"

"bah. He wouldn't spill any info, said he'd be hunted for sport if he said anythin'."

"damn." Max mumbled. The Toy Mafia has been a pain in his neck for months. No matter how many associate teams he takes out, they always seem to multiply.

"that's alright, I still got the information I needed to make an interestin' article." Flint stated as he shook the file he held up.

The elevator chimed, signaling that it reached their desired floor. "I better stop by th' copy room before I head t' the chief's office." Flint said as he exited the elevator. 

"You do that." Max replied. 

As Flint turned towards the copy room, Max headed to the newsroom and made his way through the many full-time journalists' desks who were typing away endlessly. It wasn't hard to miss where Sam was; he's a pretty tall and stout guy... well, dog to be precise. Sam was a six-foot-tall anthropomorphic Irish wolfhound with well-kept, milk chocolate brown fur. He wore a light blue trench coat, buttoned and wrapped, with a pair of dark teal slacks that matched his fedora.

As Max came up to Sam's desk, Sam looked up from his Macintosh computer and flashed a great big smile upon seeing him. "Heya, Max! Ya got those pictures I needed?" Sam asked.

"Yep, right here!" Max said as he pulled out a folder of photos he took of Washington Heights. "Sorry for bein' late, some guy wearin' a robe and a fez held me up and was preachin' t' me about some godly cosmic entity that'd take over the world or whatnot. He was really persistent." Max lied. 

Sam gave a soft chuckle, "don't know what your apologizin' for Max, I'm just glad you're here." He said as he organized the photos with his papers. He got up from his desk and started to head to the editor-in-chief's office, Max keeping close behind.


	3. The Chief Editor

They both stopped at the executive desk that sat in front of the chief's door to see Ms. Bosco, the editorial assistant. 

"Mornin' Ms. Bosco!" Sam greeted. "Is the chief busy?"

Ms. Bosco was a curvy woman with chestnut brown skin and kinky black hair, picked out into an afro. She wore black heels and a cinnamon brown pencil skirt over sheer black stockings. Paired with that, she wore a new york pink blazer over a white scoop-neck shirt and a pair of gold hoop earrings. She finished typing, then set her dark brown eyes on them as she turned to face the two of them with a smile.

"Morning boys! Nope, you can go right in. Make sure to knock first though." She replied. 

Sam walked up to the door and gave a few taps on the door. "Come in!" a lethargic yet familiar voice sang from the other side of the door. Sam opened the door to the small beige room. The walls were embellished with many knickknacks, from small framed pictures of famous people to giant souvenirs from various unknown sources. On the opposite side of the room sat a dark oak pedestal desk with the nameplate "Stinky" placed on it. And behind it, a tall office chair turned towards a large window that overlooked the city.

The chair turned to reveal a slender woman with porcelain pale skin. She had light blue eyeshadow that complimented her turquoise hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail to show off her scallop shell earrings. She also wore plum purple lipstick that matched her dark violet blazer she wore buttoned over a lavender surplice blouse. 

She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her desk, folding her pedicured hands under her chin. Her piercing teal eyes scanning both of them.

"well, if it isn't Bogie and Bacall." Ms.Stinky said, her tone unenthused, "I'm assuming you're here to bring the article I asked you to write?"

"yep, I have it right here!" Sam stated enthusiastically as he placed the file of papers and pictures on her desk. "you don't have t' worry about reviewin' it or anythin'. I made sure t' run everythin' through the editors twice t' make sure it would meet your... standards."

Sam's words died in his mouth as Ms.Stinky reached out and grabbed the folder in front of her and opened it, her eyes locked onto Sam. She looked down at the papers inside, and you could feel the tension in the room increase with every page she turned and inspected. Finally, she sat up and gave a thoughtful hum.

"Well, everything seems to be in order." she started. Sam straightened his posture as a smile came to his face.

"Except," She continued, "for this." 

Sam's smile left his face as Ms. Stinky pulled a paper out of the folder and tossed it across the desk. On it read the headline "Famous investor, Mack Salmon, found in the shady streets of Washington Heights" in bold letters. Sam fiddled with the belt of his trench coat, a look of defeat on his face as Ms.Stinky set the rest of the folder down and tapped her blue nails on her desk. 

She looked at him, unimpressed, bored even. This wasn't the first time Sam had attempted this. In fact, this was something Sam did often. Sliding in articles on topics Max had seen him passionately research, hoping to slip them into the newspaper without notice. However, it never did work.

"I told you to write about the going ons of the crack capital Sam, NOT Systemic conspiracy theories." Ms. Stinky seethed

Sam gestured to the paper between them on the desk and started, "Well, I mean, it ties into the epidemic. If you just read it-"

Ms. Stinky interrupted him, "Unless you have proper evidence that backs up the accusations you're making in this article, I can't let this be published."

Defeated, Sam went to reach for the paper when Ms. Stinky set her finger down on it, stopping Sam in his tracks. She stared him down as she casually used her finger to slide the paper across the desk and into the wastebasket beside her. _God_ , Max thought, _she sure can be catty_. Max Watched as Sam retracted his hand and straightened his posture, Ms.Stinky doing the same in her chair.

She laid her hands folded in front of her and gave a small, dry smile. Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, then turned to walk out the door. Max followed closely behind Sam, not wanting to be in the room with her any longer than necessary.

"Thanks for your hard work, boys." she said cooly as they made their way out. 


	4. 9 to 5

Sam closed the door behind them, then let out a deep sigh. Now, Max would absolutely curse her out, call her about all the words that could be found in the subway's bathroom stalls for how coldly she treated his friend. However, he was sure if he did do that, it would probably cost Sam's job. 

"What a crone," Max grumbled.

"You guys tried to pull a fast one on her again?" Ms. Bosco asked as she finished scribbling words down on a notepad.

"I don't get what's so wrong 'bout the articles I write." Sam started, "Before I started working here, I remember the L.A.P. always havin' risky yet eyecatchin' editorial on the front. Nowadays, there are mostly bland resource reports and vanilla minireviews."

"Well, before you started working here, Ms. Stinky's grandfather was running the place." Ms. Bosco stated. "He was about as blunt as they came. Ever since he retired, the way the company has published information has changed. Because of it, the company has made quite a profit."

Sam preached, "Writin' in the paper isn't supposed to be 'bout makin' money. It's supposed t' be about spreadin' information." 

"Whether that information is accurate or not is often debatable." Max Stated.

"Exactly! Don't you think this company has more potential than writing articles to appeal to those of the upper class?" Sam asked Ms. Bosco

She gave out a sympathetic sigh, turning her chair to face the two. "I don't know about you two, but I quite enjoy being able to afford rent, food, and to see a decent hairstylist. It takes a skilled hand to deal with this." she gestured to the top of her head. She turned back to her computer and began typing.

"Besides," Ms. Bosco continued, "the world just isn't ready to be confronted with the issues that desperately need to be addressed."

It fell silent between the three of them, nothing but the sound of clicking keyboards around them to fill it. Finally, with a few restless taps of his foot, Max decided to break the silence.

"It's alright Sam, I'm sure you'll get one over on her next time." Max encouraged Sam with a pat on the leg. 

"Thanks, Lil buddy." Sam smiled down at Max warmly. He then looked back up to the rows of writer's desks as he adjusted his coat's lapels, a new sense of determination in his eyes. 

"Welp, those papers aren't gonna edit themselves." Sam declared, and Max followed Sam as he made his way to his desk.

Sam worked a typical 9 to 5 job, proofreading, editing, and laying out articles for the newspaper. Since Max was a freelancer, he got to set his own hours, so he didn't have to worry about anyone telling him how to spend his time. When he wasn't out being Arachnimorph, he usually spent his time hanging around Sam at work. It had been six grueling hours, and now Max laid on the floor beside Sam's desk chair, his feet propped up on the desk drawers, as Sam finished up some last-minute touches. Max let out an exaggerated sigh, hoping it would send a hint for Sam to hurry up.

"Just one more thing, little buddy, then we'll be out of here." Sam grinned.

"You said that five minutes agoooo." Max groaned.

Sam just chuckled in response, typing away. After a couple of minutes more, he leaned back to admire his work, then started closing down his computer. Once the system powered down, Sam got up from his chair with a grunt.

"Finally." Max said as he got up off the floor, dusting himself off.

Sam made his way across the office space and turned the office lights off before calling the elevator. 

"ya know you don't have'ta wait up for me if ya want to got home so bad." Sam remarked.

"Well, somebody's gotta make sure ya get home at a decent time." Max insisted, "If it weren't for me, you'd be at that adding machine till the dead of night." 

"I suppose so." Sam replied, pressing the elevator button to the bottom floor. They made their way to the lobby and out of the building. They started walking a little way down the sidewalk till they reached a bus stop. 

"Wait, why are we taking the bus? Where's your DeSoto?" Max asked.

Sam turned to Max. "Don't you remember? I told you I walked to work today because the DeSoto is being worked on at an auto shop in the Lower East Side."

Huh, Max must have been spacing out during that conversation. Wait, did he say Lower East Side? That's where he was chasing those two carjackers who were speeding down Madison Street in a black DeSoto. Was that Sam's DeSoto? Yeesh, he can only imagine what Sam's auto-bill will look like after fixing the car from that fiasco.

"Oh, bummer." was all that Max replied.

They got onto the bus once it pulled up, Max taking a seat in the front while Sam grabbed the railing above the seats. Sam and he lived up in Highbridge in the Bronx, a pretty calm neighborhood perfect for raising children (well, as perfect as it could get in New York anyway). It was a pretty long ride, about twenty-one minutes with six stops. You could meet many interesting people on the bus, which is why more people prefer to buy cars rather than bother interacting with another human being. After getting off the bus and walking a few more blocks, they made it to Sam's house.


End file.
